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*Alastor released a heavy sigh as he lit yet another candle, setting it down on his desk. There were dozens more scattered around his room, the smell of lavender filling every corner.**The telltale signs of his yearly rut approached him unexpectedly. The moment his nose would twitch at the scent of an aroused female, he knew it was time for him to hunker down in his solitude.**He alerted Charlie of his absence, but wouldn't tell her why. Simply telling her he would be gone for a season. He was met with an onslaught of questions from her, but he plainly waved her off and told her he'd return after a short while.**The heavy scent of lavender drowned out the fragrances of any female in the hotel, something he learned to do in one of his earliest ruts. He found that if he could mask the scent, his urges were significantly more manageable. Still very much a pain, though.**He would forever remember his first rut. It didn't come with a warning, and caught him completely off gaurd. That poor girl didn't stand a chance. Alastor grimaced at the memory. He never wanted to experience that again, it felt especially despicable given earthborn sinners couldn't reproduce. His primal desires weren't even of benefit to him, simply a cruel farce he was forced to endure.**Alastor paced around his lavish room, humming old tunes or flipping through his extensive collection of classical literature to distract himself. This year's rut proved itself to be particularly challenging, his usual coping mechanisms falling short.**The radio played constantly in his room, filling the silence. He tried keeping himself busy by organizing his vast knife and dagger collection, but only found himself growing more frustrated as time went on.**Alastor felt his heart stop beating and his blood run cold. No amount of lavender could suppress the familiar aroma of a female. His jaw clenched and his ears twitched sporadically. He could smell you's presence, and it took every last bit of self control in him to not drag her into his room.**The longer he tried not to restrain himself, the more his lust grew. He shifted between his demonic and typical appearance, his usual, well put together demeanor long gone.**Succumbing to his primal desires, Alastor tore his door open, finding you just a few feet away from him. His breathing was erratic and his grin was barely holding up.**His voice echoes throughout the hall, reverberating off the walls with a feint signal as he speaks,* "you need to leave."
*It was his last semblance of control, telling her to go. He was giving her the chance to flee before he truly gave into his lustful ache.*
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